


maybe you'll exit tomorrow, the sorrow sweeping you off as your island replies

by quillieur



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character Study, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, One Shot, Short One Shot, idk how to tag, in reference to ghostbur, no beta we die like tommy's sanity in exile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27945242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillieur/pseuds/quillieur
Summary: Tubbo visits Logstedshire and reflects on his choice.
Relationships: dont ship real people - Relationship
Kudos: 127





	maybe you'll exit tomorrow, the sorrow sweeping you off as your island replies

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Tubbo's December 7th stream.
> 
> My first fic in this fandom!! :D

There had been no way to know how much exiling Tommy would hurt.

Tubbo had watched him get exiled before, chased out of L’manburg as people he had considered friends shot at him. At least then he’d known where Tommy and Wilbur were, could slip past Schlatt’s less than watchful eye and visit every now and then. 

This time, as he watched Tommy get dragged off by Dream, there was an aching in his heart. Fundy and Quackity yelling was background noise as he tried to, for the thousandth time, rationalize his decision. It was the trolley problem; either banish Tommy and save the nation from Dream’s wrath, or protect Tommy, keep him under his wing, and watch L’manburg implode.

So Tubbo dealt. He was occupied by presidential duties, dealing with the repercussions of his decision and he only really thought about it at night, when he was alone with nothing but the guilt settling heavy in his stomach and the stars, when he stared out his window, hoping against reason to see his friend running through the paths of the country he sacrificed so much for.

He didn’t try to find where Tommy had settled. He didn’t think he could stand it, the regret would be too much and even in his most optimistic of theories, he knew Tommy would never forgive him.

And then Ghostbur arrived, blue in hand and gold boots on his feet, and led Tubbo through the Nether to the portal where, according to the dead man, Tommy lived. Tubbo couldn’t find it in him to say no, knew that deep down he was desperate to see his friend again.

Ghostbur explained that Tommy wouldn’t be there, that he was more often than not out and about exploring and would often spend days away from Logstedshire--what they had taken to calling their little city, and it was safe to say Tubbo was a bit confused--but it was fine, and that he’d return soon and could talk to Tubbo, and wouldn’t that be nice? Tubbo didn’t say anything in reply. 

He was toured around Logstedshire, and he tried to keep his spirits up so that Ghostbur wouldn’t get all sad. Internally, however, Tubbo was struggling. This was what his friend had been reduced to? This mess of a tent, a haphazard portal, a dirt shack with half a roof. Ghostbur himself said that Tommy stayed mostly in his tent when he was here, so he obviously didn’t spend much time in a place with a door, like the house Ghostbur had built. 

Tubbo wanted to leave. He wanted to get out of Logstedshire and never return, never have to face his guilt head-on like he was doing now. He wanted to go through the portal and break it from the Nether side so that he never had to look at the place again.

But he didn’t. He stayed, despite everything in him yelling at him to leave. 

Eventually, Ghostbur led Tubbo out through the portal, and didn’t seem to understand why he didn’t want to wait for Tommy to get there. Ghostbur insisted he’d be back soon, they just had to wait a little bit, but Tubbo refused. He tried to explain that he was the one who exiled Tommy, who forced him on this vacation, as Ghostbur called it, but the dead man simply told him to throw his blue into the lava of the Nether to get that weight off his chest.

Tubbo didn’t quite understand why, but he humoured him, and they found their way back to L’manburg, back home where the exile of Tommy weighed more heavily on Tubbo’s shoulders and there was nothing he could do about it.

The conversation with Dream passed in a bit of a haze, still preoccupied with Logstedshire and what it represented, but he was dragged out of his thoughts when Ghostbur dragged him to the sewers, to his home. Tubbo was never a fan of the sewers, simply because the smell gave him a headache, but he followed diligently to the decidedly much more pleasant smelling home of the ghost.

Ghostbur led him into the farthest room and closed the door behind him. Tubbo stood awkwardly as Ghostbur rummaged through a few barrels before producing something with a grin. He turned to Tubbo and presented a compass, glowing with enchantments and an inscription which read  _ Your Tommy _ in small, neat print. 

Tubbo felt his throat closing as Ghostbur explained that it led to Tommy or, rather, the tent that Tommy lived in. He ran his fingers over the words and felt an indescribable loneliness, even though Ghostbur was still rambling next to him, until eventually there was silence, only the sound of potions brewing in the next room over.

After a moment of Tubbo staring at the compass and Ghostbur staring at Tubbo, the latter said his thanks and goodbyes and quickly climbed his way out of the sewers. He made a point to avoid Dream for a moment, just to be able to see which way the compass pointed, before he joined the man in a friendly game of chess.

Later that night, when Tubbo was alone and staring out his window, the guilt still in his stomach and the stars still in the sky, he watched the needle waver slightly in the direction of the ocean. It didn’t make him feel much better--if anything it made the guilt all the more present--but it reassured him to know that somewhere, Tommy was there, alive and stubborn as Tommy had always been and always will be. 

He fell asleep that night with memories of a music disc in his head, though when he woke up, he couldn’t recall the tune.


End file.
